Chapter 4 - THE MAN ON THE FLOOR

Malik woke up furious.

“Take these off.”

He pulled against the restraints securing his wrists to the hospital bed.

Farid ignored him.

Leïla stood near the window.

Karim stayed near the door.

“You were found inside a restricted archive,” Leïla said.

“I know where I was found.”

“With Samira’s badge.”

“I’ve been told.”

“And blood on your jacket.”

Malik looked at her.

“That wasn’t hers.”

Farid stepped closer.

“Whose was it?”

“Mine.”

He lifted his chin.

There was a narrow cut hidden beneath his hairline.

Karim folded his arms.

“Convenient.”

Malik laughed bitterly.

“You think I kidnapped a housekeeper, shot Naïma, stole Leïla’s code, and then knocked myself unconscious?”

“I think you’ve done stupider things.”

“Karim.”

“What?”

Leïla turned back to Malik.

“Why were you behind me when I entered my code in Naïma’s office?”

“I wasn’t watching your code.”

“You were standing three feet behind me.”

“I was waiting for Naïma.”

“For what?”

Malik stared at her.

Then his expression changed.

He suddenly looked tired.

“Samira came to me six weeks ago.”

Leïla said nothing.

“She asked questions about Uncle Hassan.”

Karim’s jaw tightened.

“What kind of questions?”

“Personal ones.”

“Be specific.”

“Who he knew twenty-eight years ago. Where he traveled. Why certain employees disappeared from payroll.”

Leïla felt Hassan’s secret shifting into something larger.

“What employees?”

Malik looked at her.

“One woman.”

“Name.”

“Dalia Haddad.”

Samira’s mother.

Leïla stepped closer.

“What did you tell her?”

“That I didn’t know much.”

“Was that true?”

“No.”

Karim moved forward.

Malik raised a hand as far as the restraint allowed.

“Our fathers hated each other. You know that.”

Hassan and his younger brother, Omar, had fought for decades.

Omar died seven years earlier.

Malik had inherited his resentment along with his shares.

“Before my father died,” Malik continued, “he told me Uncle Hassan had ruined a woman named Dalia.”

Leïla frowned.

“Ruined how?”

“He said she was paid to disappear after she became pregnant.”

Hassan had claimed he thought the baby died.

Both stories could not be true.

Malik continued.

“Samira wanted proof.”

“Did you help her?”

“Yes.”

Karim laughed.

“Of course you did.”

“I helped her because she deserved to know.”

“You hate our father.”

“I hated mine too. That doesn’t mean I murdered anyone.”

Leïla asked, “Why were you in the archive?”

“Samira messaged me.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

Farid held out his hand.

“Phone.”

“They took it.”

Farid checked the evidence bag.

Malik’s last incoming message appeared at 01:58.

COME TO WEST ARCHIVE. FOUND THE ORIGINAL.

No sender name.

But the number belonged to Samira.

Leïla read it twice.

“What original?”

“I don’t know. I went there. Door was open. Lights were off.”

“And then?”

“I saw somebody moving.”

“Who?”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“What happened?”

“Something hit me.”

“That’s it?”

Malik hesitated.

“No.”

Leïla waited.

“I heard Samira.”

Karim stepped closer.

“What did she say?”

Malik swallowed.

“She was crying.”

“What did she say?”

Malik looked directly at Leïla.

“She said, ‘Please. He already killed my mother.’”

The room went silent.

Farid’s phone rang.

He answered.

Listened.

His face changed.

“Where?”

Another pause.

“I’m coming.”

He disconnected.

Leïla stared at him.

“What now?”

Farid looked toward Malik.

“Forensics finished examining the blood near Samira’s bedroom.”

“And?”

“It isn’t Samira’s.”

Malik stopped moving.

Leïla asked, “Whose is it?”

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Farid answered.

“Your father’s.”